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Trudy found some flowers sprouting near the well, iridescent blue with yellow tips--one of the new kinds that sprouted since the end of everything. She thinks they'll make a nice dried arrangement. They smell good too, sort of minty, and goodness knows campus is getting stinky, in spite of Faustina's expert soapmaking. Flowers aren't what she's here for, though, and after she's gathered a few fistfuls she makes her way toward one of the setups. Not the Naza-whatevers, the other group. On her way, she passes Faustina and Big Mike, and a phrase catches her ear. "You should absolutely come to campus for dinner, Mr. Mike!" Trudy says, poking the older man in the chest with her bouquet. "We'd love to have a guest! Isn't that right, Faustina?" She puts an arm around Faustina, who doesn't seem comfortable with the intimacy. "Yeah," Faustina says, shrugging out of the embrace. "I was saying maybe we could help each other out. Black Betty's in bad shape, Mike's got some project to work on. Figured we could trade." "Sounds lovely!" Trudy says. She looks at Big Mike. "Aside from a nice meal, what can we do for you?" "Windmill's busted," Big Mike says, brushing pollen off his overalls. "Need a few extra pairs of hands." "Done deal! We'll have roast... something," Trudy says, then wanders off in search of something to roast. Faustina rolls her eyes. "Can you imagine her on a windmill?" Big Mike chuckles. "No, but I imagine she makes a mean roast something."
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Apr 29, 2014 02:59
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Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy has a mental checklist for each person she meets, and it has two boxes: Good People, and Bad People. Taco's earned a tick mark next to Bad People, and not just because he's wearing a vest and no shirt. Trudy's not at all sure if she wants to go on this truck/wounded guy adventure, and is mulling it over. She'll probably go where Faustina goes. Alive in the world • What does this place or these people have to offer me?
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Apr 30, 2014 02:17
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Trudy Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 When Frog got shot, Trudy had her eye on the perimeter--a few shamblers were on their way, and it looked like the beginnings of a pileup. The shot made her feel like she'd just missed a step on a set of stairs, that hot, angry adrenaline rush that she'd experienced with every surprise gunshot she'd heard since the beginning. When none of the shamblers' heads exploded, she whipped around to see Frog's recently ventilated body a ways away. Frog had not been Good People, which means Trudy had just gone through another fury-inducing rush of internal chemicals for nothing. She tries to breathe, but can't shake her gut-reaction fear and rage. She walks over to Knapp, angry at the blank look on his face, the lazy way he's holding his rifle, and pushes him in the chest, hard. "Why in heck's name aren't you doing your job?" she says. Knapp's face is still a little behind the times, emotionally. "Huh?" he says. Trudy puts her hand on Knapp's shoulders and spins him around so he can see the sporeheads gathering around the perimeter. "Those!" Trudy says. "Shoot them!" Knapp gets back to work.
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May 3, 2014 04:09
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Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 "Far as I know, no," Trudy says, taking Perry's hand. "Come on, sweetie, we need to get home." She leads the still-shocked girl over to where Big Mike, Faustina, and Angel Eyes are. "We have to get out of here," Trudy says, using the hand not holding Perry's to indicate the coming swarm. "I don't know what all just happened here, but now we have to leave. Mr. Mike, can you get our truck back to campus? That dinner offer still stands if you want to join."
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May 4, 2014 16:23
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Trudy Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Edited for clarity and not narrating for other people. Trudy sees Faustina kneeling in the dirt by the boy with the hole in his gut. "Perry, " she says, grabbing the girl by her shoulders, looking into her eyes to make sure she's paying attention. She is. "Perry, help me get the boy in the back of Black Betty, but don't touch Faustina, okay? Let her keep her hands on him." Perry nods. If this is another Ethel situation, and Trudy's pretty sure it is, Faustina's going to need some care afterward. Trudy's not sure how she does... whatever she does, but it's gotta be tiring. Perry gets the boy in the truck, Faustina following in her weird trance, and Trudy hops in the driver's seat. "I'm going back to campus," Trudy says. "You want to come?" Violajoker fucked around with this message at 03:09 on May 6, 2014 |
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May 5, 2014 18:37
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Trudy Barter=1 | Exp=0/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy's no mechanic, but Black Betty's engine is making sounds that can only be bad. As much as she'd like to return to the familiarity and relative safety of the university, getting stuck anywhere is a death sentence. The only thing to do right now is head to Big Mike's place and hope he makes it out of his Juck situation. And that they don't hit a land mine. And that the truck is still fixable later. And that the shroomheads don't follow. And that-- "Wait... don't leave Sam..." Trudy turns to see Raj and his wife Sam running full-tilt toward Black Betty. Can they come? Of course! Cartel Saül and his crew are right next to them. They are not Good People. Trudy hopes CS and his crew trip and fall before they make it, but if it's all or none, it's all. When tushes hit the truck bed, she guns it, hoping. Drivin' a Car: 2d6 3 gently caress
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May 7, 2014 23:49
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Trudy Barter=0 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 "Knowles," Trudy says, rooting through her purse, not looking at the girl in the passenger seat, "I have to concentrate for a minute, and I need your help." Knowles raises an eyebrow. "I need you to get everybody back in the car, as quickly as possible," Trudy continues. She finds what she's looking for--a tattered scrap of cloth, and holds it to her chest. "Faustina, Sam, Raj--if you can get them in here before the shrooms hit, we'll all be safe." She looks up at Knowles. "Can you do that?" Trudy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, holding the cloth, remembering her four-poster canopy bed, the floral-patterned comforter tucked around the shape of her pillows, the smell of lemon Pledge, and how everything fit her just right her pink painted vanity's chair low enough for a little girl and how important how so very important it was that things go in their places. Back then, when she was little and spent time making sure her things were just so, her rituals just made her feel better, more in control of her little portion of the world. No matter how much bigger and older and smarter everyone else was, she could always go home. She could always go to her room. But the world is different since the blight, more flexible, more malleable, and although the shapes it takes are often dark, they're not all dark. Whatever you want to call it--Momgeist, obsessive-compulsive shamanism, Better Homes and Magic--Trudy's realized that, if she spends time making a place her own, the monsters don't get in. Sometimes she can bring pieces of home with her, too. She opens her eyes and flattens the little piece of cloth on her thigh, then hangs it up in Black Betty's rear-view mirror. It's a cross-stitch, and it reads:  Threshold: 2d6+2 8 • No one with weird+2 or higher can enter across your threshold, and if they’re already within it, they must act under fire to do anything but depart. • Your threshold doesn’t protect just your living space, but any space you’re in, moving with you wherever you go
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May 10, 2014 19:02
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Trudy Barter:1 Exp 1/5 Harm 0:00 Fatigue 0:00 Trudy pops open the truck's rear window, the one that faces the truck bed. It doesn't go far, but it means those in the truck bed can hear her talk. "What we need to do right now," Trudy says, smoothing the front of her dress, "is calm down. I can't keep this a safe place if there's a ruckus." She raises a finger at Knowles. "That means no more gunshots from you." Trudy looks out one of Black Betty's windows, past the zombies dazedly bumping into the new invisible wall, and at the barn, where the Nazareenies are taking their heroic last stand. Talk about ruckus. "My thoughts," Trudy says, "are that those holy rollers are going to make enough noise to draw every cordie in the area. And if we keep quiet, and keep calm, maybe they'll pass us up, and we'll get a chance to get out of here." She looks at Knowles, who's bleeding on the truck's upholstery, then at Faustina. "Faustie, sweetie? You too pooped to do another laying-on?" Trudy stands by, ready to help with whatever medical happenings are about to... happen. Help Faustina Do Wound Stuff: 2d6+2 7 Violajoker fucked around with this message at 00:04 on May 14, 2014 |
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May 13, 2014 20:11
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"I'm all for heading home," Trudy says, "after this mess clears itself out." She's rooting through her purse, which she made herself out of an old dress she felt had gone out of fashion, whatever that meant these days. Made a cute purse though, and one big enough to hold anything she needed. Which meant when she wanted something, it took a lot of digging through to get it. The good stuff always sank to the bottom. Eventually she pulls out a silver tube of lipstick (Make: Revlon Super Lustrous™ Shade: Fabulous Fig), uncaps it, and starts scrawling a backwards message on the inside of the truck's dirty windshield.  She puts the cap back on the lipstick, and turns to the group assembled. "Just in case he makes it back here," she said. "Didn't want to be rude."
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May 17, 2014 01:39
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Trudy Barter=1 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 "Miss Eyes, there's more girly goodies for you back at campus than you could shake your gun at, if you'll just help keep us all safe," Trudy says. Over the years she's scrounged more than any single woman could ever wear in her life--although some of the girls have joked that she's trying anyway, the way she cakes it on. Trudy turns to Big Mike. "Let's all keep together until we get back to campus. Once we're there, and behind the barricades, it'll be a lot easier to get everything, and everyone," she says, nodding her head at the bloody meat circus in the back of Mike's truck, "cleaned up."
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May 18, 2014 21:30
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Trudy Barter=2 EXP=1/5 Harm=0:00 Fatigue=0:00 The ruckus over at K-scratch ranch unsettled Trudy, even more so because she had to use her powers to get everybody home safe. What most people would do if they came home from a turd of a day like that is sleep for, like, six or seven weeks. But that's not how Trudy decompresses. She's on her knees in the middle of a day-long scrub-a-thon, buffing the kitchen sink into a high shine with a scouring mix Faustina made for her (bless her heart, if that wasn't the best Christmas present she'd ever got), deep into a joint the size of a Sharpie, recharging her homemaker spirit, when she realizes there are visitors. They knocked, and she felt that knock, even though it was on the gate that encloses Betta Gamma house, and she was inside, in the kitchen. This kind of thing happens when she's really feeling good. What she did with Black Betty was a spur-of-the-moment thing, a casserole of magic, whipped up out of whatever she could scrounge from her mental pantry. It was thin, and brittle. Betta Gamma house, though, is home. Here, it's like the building is an extension of herself, and when someone raps on the gate, they rap on her, too. This one she feels on her left shoulder. A polite little knock. Trudy takes a hit from the joint, taps the ashes neatly into a mason jar, and goes to see who's here. "Hello," the middle-aged, head-shaved white guy in front says, hands clasped by his waist, "My name is Elijah. Have you heard the good news?" The hoods are a little off-putting, but for some reason  , Trudy's feeling pretty good about these people. "The good news?" she says. He goes on, "Don't you agree that the world has gone to poo poo? Wouldn't you love to see all the filth and pestilence and sin, wiped away? Pulverized and ground into the earth? I'm pleased to be the one to tell you, it's going to happen. The Killdozer roams this great country, and it will not stop on its mission of divine justice and carnage until all the evil in it is ground to dust." Trudy's not big on holy rollers, and these kids remind her more than a little of Jehovah's Witnesses handing out pamphlets, but at the same time, she finds that kind of scouring more than a little appealing. Sometimes she'd like to light the whole world up to get rid of all the mess. Why not a bulldozer? He looks sincerely apologetic when he says, "Now, unfortunately, there may be some collateral damage along the unyielding crusade. The Killdozer might plow through some useful, even inhabited, buildings on its path to smite the wicked. And right now, it's on a course to pass right through this here campus - and I do mean through. But don't take that as a threat! It's an opportunity, really, to be part of the crusade that will save the world." He explains, "The Killdozer is fueled by sacrifice. Now, it won't starve, not ever, but through our offerings, and those of charitable donors, we can speed it up along its ruinous path. Anything of great sentimental value is best, but practical stuff - food, ammunition, good clothes, medicine - works, too. Of course, some of it will go to feed and clothe its Heralds." A guy behind him with a big smile waves. "And when you make an offering, it listens to you. So we're here taking collections, for the good of everyone everywhere, and giving you a chance to say to it, 'O Sacred Killdozer, please drive around this college on your merciless course.' Right now, we're a long way off from gathering a big enough donation to sway it." He glances over your shoulder and asks, "May we come inside to discuss this further?" Trudy smiles. "Of course!" Ushering them in, she says, "I'm not sure about donations, but I know hungry people when I see them, and I can at least give you a good meal before you go on your way."
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May 27, 2014 18:56
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=2/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 "No thank you, sweetie," Trudy says, simultaneously sliding a teacup under the bleeding man's hand to save the kitchen table, and opening a cabinet. Inside rests some heavy homemade bread and fresh goat's milk cheese. Trudy sets the bread and cheese on the table, alongside some basil from the herb garden, and tomatoes from the garden-garden. The question doesn't freak her out. You can't throw a rock without hitting a cult these days--The Church of Latter-Day Satanists, the New Mansonites, the Nazarenes, NeoWiccans--and if you were easily offended by plaintive stares, roving missionaries, and requests for blood, being offended would be all you did. And it's best to be polite, because you never know who's going to end up with the winning ticket. Before, Trudy didn't care about religion. She wasn't a frothing atheist, she just didn't pay much attention to anything spiritual. But with things the way they are, and the weird magic she's tapped into, well, it's basically anybody's game now. The Killdozer could actually be what life is all about. That doesn't mean they get everything they ask for, though. Trudy's not about to bet the farm (or sorority house) on everybody with a god and an argument that stops by. But she'll feed 'em, and listen to their stories. These guys are interesting, at least. Trudy's always liked the vengeful, imperfect gods (if the Killdozer is even supposed to be a god). They seem more authentic. Sometimes she wishes the Greek pantheon would make a comeback. She might even sign up for that one. "There's nothing impressive on the menu today," Trudy says, slicing the bread. On each piece she crumbles a bunch of cheese, then places sliced tomatoes and fresh basil on top. "But it's pretty filling." To each cultist, she hands a hefty portion. "So, tell me more about the Killdozer," Trudy says, getting up to get some tea for each guest. "Where did it come from? Who's the Pilot?" She sets four cups on the table, fills them, and sits down, listening attentively.
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Jun 1, 2014 19:14
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Barter=2 | Exp=3/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy's feel-good homemaker buzz wears off as she realizes two things. Thing one: She let them bring their weapons into her kitchen. Thing two: Elijah is staring at Bobo and Grace, who are staring back with button eyes from the window-sill. They're sock monkeys, and they are not for sale, let alone sacrifice to some stupid tank. Elijah is looking at them almost lecherously, and when Trudy thinks about how much time she put into those toys, stitching and re-stitching and finding matching buttons when their eyes popped out because Ryan was always too rough with his-- A gun goes off in the Atrium. Trudy feels nauseous. "Here," she says, shoving the rest of the loaf of bread at the cultists, "this is all you're getting from me today." She tries to shoo them out the door so she can get to the Atrium. Scat!: 2d6+2 8
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Jun 8, 2014 16:59
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=3/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy sees what's going on just outside the Atrium, and is furious. Hostage-taking? A standoff? In her house? Nuh-uh. She stalks up behind one of the maskheads, her eyebrows knit together. "EVERYBODY! GROW! UP!" she bellows, punctuating each word with a backhand to the closest maskhead's ear. "I cannot believe what I am seeing!" she says. She folds her arms, trying to calm down. "Now, if everyone will get their gosh-darned egos in check for just a minute, we can talk about something really important." She takes a deep breath. "Bobo has been kidnapped." Trying to manipulate the crowd, get everybody's priorities straight(?) I Will Turn This Campus Around: 2d6+2 9
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Jun 13, 2014 15:44
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=3/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy is Having a Moment--that's what her mother called it, anyway. Even as a little girl, things would occasionally build up inside her so much that she just, sort of... snapped. This time the last tiny piece of straw was the blood on her dress. Trudy worked very, very hard to keep her clothes clean, and blood was almost as hard to get out as the mucous that leaked from a punctured spore. So, in the middle of an extremely recent showdown, surrounded by wounded men and women, Trudy's face breaks into a too-wide smile. She looks down at her dress, muttering about cold water and salt, and promptly leaves the scene. In the kitchen, scrubbing her hem (it's coming out, thank the lord), she ponders what to do about Bobo. The stain loosens, and a plan forms in her mind. She'll go talk to those cultists, give 'em a piece of her mind. She'll set them straight. Sporting a wet-edged dress and plastered-on smile, she leaves campus. She's going to have a few words with those Killdozer kids. She takes her best butcher knife with her.
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Jun 21, 2014 00:44
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=3/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 There are some folks who can tell the mood of a man by his footprints, people who'll get a story out of a snapped twig, or a tuft of fabric caught on some chain-link. Trudy is not one of those people. She's mad, she's armed, and she's walking in the direction she's pretty sure the Killdozer kids would've gone--out the front gate of the university. That's about it. She just wants Bobo back. Real bad. Tracking Cultists: 2d6 3 "Tracking." Oh boy.
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Jun 28, 2014 03:18
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=4/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 A scene from an old TV show immediately pops into Trudy's head, something she watched as a child. She almost laughs, but the hubcap sword at her feet is pretty sobering. Her rescue mission is clearly not going well. Looking around at the assembled cultists, she doesn't even see Bobo. What to do? What she wants is to go bananas with the cleaver she's still holding. What she does is smile. "I don't want to fight you," she says. "I want to join you." If you don't have anything nice to say, lie.: 2d6+2 10
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Jul 4, 2014 02:32
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=4/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy's knee-jerk reaction is to accept the handshake--to do anything else would be rude. A good handshake involves eye contact, too, and so Trudy finds herslf looking Colin in his one good eye. It's green, and then it's all wobbly because Trudy is crying harder than she has in years. She's trying to ask Colin, "Really?" but all that comes out is "Ruh-ruh-ruh" and then she's sobbing some more, leaning into the cultist's dirty black robes. In the back of her mind, she strategizes robe-cleaning tactics. It was the "letting go" part that got her. For years Trudy's sense of loss, her guilt at living, her guilt at not being able to save the one person she was ever really in charge of, has been plastered to her, constricting her every movement, every thought. Colin had surprised her. If he could slough off his horror, his mourning, couldn't she? There might be something to the Killdozer. What if sometimes things had to be torn down? Eventually the sobs peter out, and between hitching breaths, she says, "Okay." With one hand she wipes her eyes, smearing mascara everywhere. With the other, she picks up Bobo. "If someone could please lend me a knife," she says. Edit: did this post on my lunch break, will finish when I get home. Violajoker fucked around with this message at 22:47 on Jul 9, 2014 |
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Jul 9, 2014 19:10
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=4/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy takes the copper bleedin' knife from the cultist, draws in a deep breath, and makes a little slice midway up her forearm. She never understood why anybody'd cut their palm--wouldn't the wound just keep opening all the time? A little bit of blood trickles from the cut, and she remembers Band-Aids, and skinned knees, and slitting her husband's throat after he suggested they put their bitten son down like a dog. The blood drips down onto Bobo's stitched-up face, and Trudy feels... nothing. No release, no relief, no escape from the clinging grief and guilt. "Now what?" she says, looking expectantly around at the cultists, who are grinning. That's when the chalk circle bursts into flame. Trudy passes out in the middle, surrounded by black-robed figures.
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Jul 22, 2014 18:45
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=4/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy finds herself at a loss, for once, in terms of etiquette. Glowing eyes and viscous seas weren't covered in Sunday school. It hardly matters, though. The eye...thing... lets her know what to do. Trudy thinks, treading liquid, feeling more like she's slipping than swimming. Her first thought is her son, but immediately the eye's glow starts to shake, making her smoke-cast shadow shimmer. The thing is laughing. Some things are just too much to ask for. "Fine, then!" Trudy says. "Just tell me what the--the HELL this is all about! Why did the world fall apart? Tell me the reason everyone I love is dead!" Asking a Lot: 2d6+2 7
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Jul 29, 2014 22:21
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=4/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=0:00 Trudy takes the offered water bottle with a shaking hand. Its contents remind her of the liquid she was just swimming in, the Destroyer's waters-- oily, gritty, and anything but clean. Still, she drinks it down in big gulps. She feels like a raisin. When the bottle is empty, she lets it fall to the concrete. "Answers," she says, running her fingertips along the chalk markings, smearing them a little, "and I got some." The cultists are staring at her expectantly, like it's an AA meeting and it's her turn to Share, but Trudy is just so tired. Why had she even come here? Things at campus get a little hectic, and she goes off on a mission to kill some kids for a toy? Bobo is staring at her too, and in his black button eyes she sees the void the Destroyer showed her. In that darkness, nothing mattered. Trudy lifts Bobo off the trash can and hugs him to her chest, never mind her dirty hands, never mind the blood. "All I can say," she says, stroking the toy, "is you all better hope that thing--whatever it is--you better hope that thing lies."
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Aug 6, 2014 01:20
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=5/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=2:00 Trudy fills them in on her experience--the sludge, the beast's eye, its less-than-sunny explanation of the state of things. She doesn't mention the Destroyer's laughter, or her knee-jerk first wish. She's pretty tired, but picks up on the meaning behind Elijah's god-jargon. Something like her episode with the Destroyer had been predicted, and she sees no reason to keep him from believing that. Being Prophesied isn't on Trudy's bucket list, but could come in handy, especially because-- "I want to speak with the Killdozer," she says, standing up and smoothing out her dress. It's chalky and mussed-up, but somehow that seems less important than usual. Maybe, she wonders, my husband used to say something about wrinkly dresses. But she can't remember. The Destroyer, or whatever it wanted to call itself, had taken him from her, replacing his memory with the facts: the Cancer is what's in right now, and meaning is what's out. What's happening to the world isn't about character-building, or sorting chaff from wheat, or forging heroes from ordinary people. It's just fungus, and if the Killdozer's driver(s?) have plans for getting it gone, Trudy's in. Prophesies Are Like Assholes - Everybody's Got One: 2d6+2 11 Rolled another hot, taking: Disarming Presence: when you want to disarm a charged situation, start speaking or singing and roll+hot. On a hit, no one present can commit violence while they can see you or hear your voice. On a 10+, furthermore, if any of your fellow players’ characters leave the situation peacefully, they mark experience as well. On a miss, no one present can commit violence against anyone but you.
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Aug 20, 2014 03:30
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=2:00 Trudy is disappointed to learn that the Killdozer doesn't talk much. Polite silence is one thing, but she has never been fond of the tendency of gods to be Very Mysterious, and considering she is (maybe) the subject of a prophecy concerning this particular god, she feels she deserves a friendly chat. As the Killdozer crawls toward the gathered cultists, she starts striding toward it singing a song. If you're feeling mad, and don't know what to do, Don't scream, don't cry, don't pout. It's okay to be upset, but don't you forget, The best thing to do is to talk it out! Talk it out, use your words, And soon I bet you'll see. Talk it out, use your words, And we can get along happily! Disarming Presence (Talk It Out!): 2d6+2 6 pretty sure trudes is about to die now
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Nov 20, 2014 20:00
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Trudy Barter=2 | Exp=1/5 | Harm=0:00 | Fatigue=2:00 Oops: 2d6 12 Serious poo poo: Bleeding heavily--your condition will deteriorate rapidly without medical care
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Nov 25, 2014 03:11
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